Moral Compass
by Dr. Dredd
Summary: The ethical dilemmas of Instinct and Conversion seen from the POV of Carson Beckett's 2IC. Spoilers for those episodes. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

By now, everyone in the infirmary knows I've tendered my resignation. I'll miss the adventure and excitement here, but I no longer think I can work with Carson Beckett. Oh, he's a good man in many ways. He's a caring physician, and I've seen him bring patients back from the brink of death. But today I saw a different side of him, and it scared the hell out of me.

I once told John Sheppard that after the Holocaust the only people my father felt bitterness towards were the ordinary German citizens. That's only partially true. I found out several years after he died that he had been one of the few to pass through Mengele's laboratories and survive. He therefore couldn't forgive the scholars, the learned men and women, either. Doctors, scientists, professionals who should have known better than to succumb to the seduction of Nazi propaganda. No doubt many felt that they were doing the best thing for their own people. And so they put the tools of medicine and science to work trying to find the easiest path to genocide, since the ends would invariably justify the means.

I have to wonder. Is that so different from what we're doing here? Are we trying to change Wraith back into humans, or are we trying to find the easiest way to destroy them? And for John, does the question even matter any more?

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I first became uneasy when I overheard Carson in the infirmary talking to Weir and Sheppard about the young Wraith girl. As he discussed her physiology, his eyes lit up with the excitement of discovery. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it raised my hackles anyway. Maybe it was the way in which he referred to her, very clinically detached. By the time he offhandedly indicated his desire to work with a "cooperative test subject", my mental alarm bells were ringing furiously.

I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though, so I approached him as he was preparing to go offworld. "Carson, do you have a minute?"

"Sure. What's on your mind, son?" When I hesitated, he looked concerned and waved me into his office. "Is everything all right, then?"

I wasn't quite sure how to say it, but I gave it a try. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about a Wraith child. What's going on?"

Carson grinned, looking excited again. "It's really quite fascinatin', actually. We don't know all that much about the life cycle of the Wraith, but it seems like it may have two distinct phases: the child form, which can exist on actual food, and the adult form, which needs to feed on humans to survive. I won't know much more until I get there, but from what Colonel Sheppard tells me, this young Wraith has gone for several years without feeding on anyone! Apparently a serum her father developed is inhibiting that aspect of the metabolism..."

Carson would make a good medical school professor. He enjoys lecturing and teaching things to people, and can't help but transmit his own enthusiasm. However, it wasn't helpful at that moment. When he paused to take a breath, I jumped in. "You're taking the retrovirus with you? I thought it wasn't ready yet."

"Oh, it's not. But if it is the serum that's helping this Wraith to avoid feeding, it's possible that we could incorporate part of its chemical structure into the retrovirus's genetic code. Why do you ask? I didn't think you were interested in molecular genetics."

I forced a smile of my own. "I'm not. I think it's horribly boring stuff. I was just a little worried, that's all. You might be putting yourself in danger if you use an untested delivery system." Not exactly the truth, but it would do.

"Och, I appreciate your concern, Steve. No, like I said, the virus is far from ready for human trials. The most I'll be doing is conducting some tests with fresh blood and tissue samples. It's a pity, though, that we won't be able to bring her back with us." Before I could say anything regarding my concerns about ethical experimentation, Carson patted me on the back and walked towards the door.

To quote the wise Han Solo, I had a very bad feeling about this.

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John, Carson, and the others were away on that planet for over 12 hours. Not a very long time, but long enough for me to do some hard thinking. I felt personally betrayed, and I wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because I thought that, as medics, we should be noncombatants in the war against the Wraith. Maybe it was also because Carson had listened so compassionately to the story of my family's experience in Nazi Germany, yet was trying to tinker with the very genes of the enemy. That hit just a little too close to home.

Whatever the reason, I was furious by the time I got paged to the gateroom to meet the incoming team. The rest of the staff gave me a wide berth as I gathered supplies and barked out orders. They were probably inwardly cursing the prima donna surgeon. Too bad for them.

As usual, the team looked harried when they came through the gate. Rodney appeared dazed, Ronon was helping Teyla walk, and John had blood streaming down one arm. Carson looked devastated, and I noticed he had returned with one fewer supply case than he left with. It seemed that things hadn't gone very well.

Then Carson shook himself and took control of the scene. He motioned to Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon to walk ahead of us to the infirmary and then tried to get a protesting John to lie down on one of the gurneys. Stubborn as always, John was not thrilled with the idea, and he complied with ill grace. Bitched the entire way to the infirmary, too. I listened to his complaining with half an ear as Carson filled me in on what had happened.

When we arrived, Carson starting working on John while I supervised the post-mission exams for Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla. Rodney's papercut was not life-threatening, so I shooed him out to get some rest. I told Teyla she needed to stay for at least a few hours of observation after her injury and snagged one of the other docs to deal with it. Ronon simply disappeared, probably to deplete more of our food supply.

That left John. I listened in the background while he and Carson discussed John's disappearing wound. While John was distracted, Carson snuck in a few blood samples and said they'd be ready later in the day. After trading barbs with the CMO, John decided to leave.

From the look Carson gave me, he knew I was upset. "All right, Steve. What's on your mind?"

I took deep breaths for a few seconds, not entirely trusting my voice. "What the hell happened down there?" I finally ground out. "You said the damn thing wasn't going to be used!"

"It shouldn't have been," Carson said quietly. "Ellia took matters into her own hands, and I think I can understand why she did it."

"Oh, so she has a name now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"It means why did you even tell them about it to begin with?" I snapped. "You yourself said you didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. Did you secretly want to see what would happen in an intact subject?"

"What the devil's gotten into you, lad?" he breathed, dismayed.

"What's gotten into me? It might have something to do with seeing you play mad scientist so soon after seeing McKay play mad scientist! He probably has you beat since he destroyed a few planets, but if you keep tinkering with Wraith DNA something almost as bad is bound to occur. It may already have started! Wounds don't just heal themselves for no reason."

"Well, forgive me for tryin' to do some good! Both for the people of this galaxy who are getting culled and for those miserable Wraith sods themselves! And I did NOT secretly want the girl to play guinea pig. How can you even say that?" If anything, Carson now looked even worse than before. He was trembling slightly and his eyes were haunted. But it was like a dam had burst in me and all of the pain of watching my father was boiling out. For the rest of his life, he was terrified of doctors and refused to seek any medical care. It killed him in the end, when a colon cancer that could have been easily detected spread throughout his entire body.

"You were practically salivating at the chance to study a live Wraith who wasn't going to try to suck the life out you. Did you even bother to ask her if she was willing?" I asked grimly.

"Aye, of course I did! Both she and her father agreed. The poor girl hated what she was becoming. My God, you're making me sound like some kind of monster!"

"No, you're not a monster," I sighed. "But... damn it, Carson, this could blow up in our faces! Didn't you learn your lesson after Hoff?"

I knew as soon as I spoke that I had gone one step too far. Carson stopped shaking, and his face became eerily calm. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but he's a very tactile person. He's always patting people on the back or slapping them on the shoulder. Well, this time I thought he was going to hit me.

"How dare you?" he almost whispered. "Don't think for one moment that I'm not going to have to live with Hoff for the rest of my life. That drug killed thousands. So, just maybe, I'd like to atone for my role in one of the biggest mass murders in history! This retrovirus, if we can get it to work, has the potential to end the culling of millions! Maybe that will allow me to finally get some peace."

I tried to interrupt, but he plowed right on, his voice starting to rise. "And if we're really lucky, we might be able to use a derivative of this to help Lieutenant Ford. Let's not forget that he practically shot his way out of my infirmary!" I didn't miss Carson's use of the word 'my' instead of 'our.' "He should have been restrained and sedated, but I got careless and now he's running around this galaxy with an addled brain doing God knows what! So what the bloody hell gives you the right to judge?"

I remembered from when he appointed me 2IC that Carson had a self-critical streak the size of the Mississippi. Our shouting match was undoubtedly feeding it, but for the moment I didn't really care. "I'll tell you what gives me the right. One day Josef Mengele decided that he wanted to observe every detail of what happened when the human body starved. So they stopped giving food to my father. To this day, I have no idea what made them stop the experiment in the middle, but he survived. Never trusted doctors again, but wanted his only son to become one." I shook my head and continued in a lower voice. "I never did figure that one out."

"I didn't know that," Carson said quietly.

"No, you didn't," I agreed in a conversational tone. "But it doesn't really matter. I am hereby tendering my resignation, effective immediately."

He looked stunned as I removed my lab coat and pitched it across the room into a laundry bag. "I'm not accepting your resignation," he said as I started to leave the infirmary. "You need to cool down a bit, son. You're not thinking straight." But I just ignored him and walked out.

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Of course, it didn't end there. From the infirmary, I walked back to my quarters in a daze. I'm not usually that impetuous, and I was beginning to wonder if I had somehow overreacted. Then I remembered the scientific thrill in Carson's eyes juxtaposed with the fear in John Sheppard's, and felt confident that I'd made the right choice.

I looked around the large room that had become my home during the last year. I probably wouldn't take very much back to Earth with me. Other than religious items such as the mezzuzah on my doorpost, most of my stuff could be easily replaced. A lot of it wouldn't make it past the security screeners, anyway.

I knew that I should start packing, but didn't have the energy to do it and probably couldn't have concentrated. The chirp of the earpiece that I had forgotten to remove was therefore a welcome distraction. A voice on the other end informed all medical personnel that there would be a briefing in one hour to discuss the situation with Colonel Sheppard. We would find that pertinent data emailed to us, and we were requested to familiarize ourselves with it.

I was torn. Although I had resigned and wanted nothing more to do with the fiasco that was the retrovirus, I respected John a great deal. We didn't know each other well, but had occasionally crossed paths in the cafeteria when both of us were pulling late nights. And furthermore, he never forgot my name like Rodney did.

In the end, my sense of responsibility won out. As long as I was still in this city, I had a duty to my patients. So I sat down at the computer and pulled up the material. It was even worse than I had imagined. I had thought that the virus would simply kill John. Instead, it was transforming him.

If it were me, I wasn't sure which fate I would prefer.

Carson had learned of the changes John was undergoing when he saw the scaly patch on John's arm. But they had apparently started even earlier than that. First, John had outrun and outlasted Ronon Dex. (Rumor had it that Ronon was quite pissed about it, had doubled his training routines, and wanted a rematch.) John had also literally beat Teyla at stick fighting with one hand behind his back. Then he gave her an intense, passionate kiss.

To say that this was out of character for John was an understatement.

At the moment, John was stable after a dose of antiretrovirals. From the looks of it, Carson had tried one of the anti-AIDS regimens. I had to admit that it was a good idea. If the virus mutated, he could switch to another regimen. Maybe that would buy enough time to figure out how to eradicate it permanently.

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The medical briefing was predictable. The combined years of education in that room probably exceeded a millenium, and when you get that many highly-educated egos in one place at the same time there are bound to be intellectual pissing contests. But we came up with something that has at least a chance of working.

I think Carson was surprised to see me there. He stared for a few seconds, then gave me a curt nod. There was a look of gratitude in his eyes, though, as he returned to his previous conversation with one of our infectious disease specialists.

I sat down at the end of one of the rows on his right, next to Dr. Biro. I know I've joked about her ghoulish tendencies, but I actually happen to like her. She did part of her training at the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology and has definitely seen some weird things during her career. Unfortunately, we especially needed that today. Her own research focuses on virally induced mutations that lead to cancer. We needed that today, too.

The guy sitting on the other side of Dr. Biro obviously felt that he needed to prove something. I think he's new; I've certainly never seen him before. She shot down an idea of his involving complete blood replacement (rightly so -- it never would have worked), and he got into a huff about it. Tried to poke holes in her stem cell theory, but that's what we ended up going with. Dr. Biro's oncology experience had indeed been useful; we were going to use altered stem cells as guided missiles to attack the virus, much like some of the new cancer drugs attacked tumor cells.

As Carson wrapped up the briefing, it occurred to me that this was yet another experimental treatment of his. Logically, then, I should be feeling equally outraged as I had with Ellia. Instead, I was desperate for it to work. Was this how the girl had felt? It was something to think about... later.

As the scientists were filing out of the room, Major Lorne walked in and drew Carson aside. I could hear part of their conversation. Lorne was saying, "Are you sure?"

"No, but I think it's his only chance. We don't have time to explore other options, as Elizabeth reminded me."

Lorne shrugged. "It's your call; I'll back whatever you suggest. But Dr. Weir's going to be a hard sell."

"Aye. I'll handle it, though." Lorne left, and Carson turned to me. "Problem, Dr. Schwartz?" he asked coolly.

My tone matched his. "You'll be needing someone to take over in the infirmary when you're offworld." It wasn't a question.

"Quite true."

"I would be willing to do that."

"Sorry, but I can't let you. You've resigned, after all. It's a liability issue, you understand," he said sarcastically.

Since I had come this far, I might as well go all the way. "For the duration of this emergency," I ground out. "I'll temporarily withdraw my resignation. For Sheppard's sake."

Carson turned his piercing stare on me. I don't know what he was looking for, but he obviously found it. "All right, doctor. I'll expect you back on duty in the infirmary in one hour." His expression softened for a minute, and I thought he was going to say something, but he left without another word.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

When I started my shift in the infirmary, there was little for me to do. I studied Carson's research notes on the virus and the printouts of John's test results. Blood, urine, cerebrospinal fluid -- he was shedding the virus everywhere. However, I was kidding myself if I thought I was going to figure something out. I was way out of my league here.

I looked up at the sound of footsteps. John entered the infirmary, followed closely by a guard. "I think I'd better stay here for now," he said softly.

I nodded at the guard to stay by the door and walked with John over to an exam bed. "What happened, Colonel?" I took his vitals as he told me about his confrontation with Elizabeth. Pulse, blood pressure, and respiratory rate were all elevated.

"It was weird," he said. "Like there were two people in my head: me and a bug-man. The bug took over for a minute when I got frustrated, and now I'm constantly fighting to keep him from doing it again." John looked down at his hands, which were starting to scale over. He shuddered and quickly tucked them into his sleeves.

All right, surely I could figure out something to do. "Any headaches, nausea, vomiting?" He shook his head. "Good. I'm going to double your dose of combivir and give you an IV dose of interferon, which is a nonspecific viral inhibitor. Sorry, but then I'm going to have to stick you every few hours for blood."

"Do I have any left?" he joked weakly.

I smiled, although I didn't much feel like it. "Oh, you're not even close to being drained, don't worry about that. Hang on a sec, and I'll get things started."

One of the nurses, Judy Henning, came over to us. I quickly told her what I had in mind, and she went to take care of it. Before she left, though, she said, "I'm glad you decided to stay, Dr. Schwartz."

I shook my head, wondering if I should remind her that I was only here until we solved the retrovirus problem (or didn't, but I wouldn't let myself think about that). I turned back to find John looking at me sharply. "What's she mean, doc?"

I sighed. "Nothing for you to worry about. Just a difference of opinion."

"What did she mean about staying?"

He obviously wasn't going to let it go. Fine. "Carson and I don't agree about the development and use of the retrovirus. I don't think we should be going down this path, and, frankly, you're exhibit A for the plaintiff. I resigned, but I'm going to stick around until we find a cure for you."

John's eyes were beginning to alter, but I could still read determination in them. "I don't blame Beckett, and neither should you." He stopped as Judy came back with the supplies and I started the IV. (John wasn't kidding about the high number of blood draws; his arm was starting to look like a pincushion.) I had him lie back on the bed while I hung the bag of interferon. He was probably going to feel like he had the flu while the drug was going in.

When I was done, John picked up the conversation where we left off. "Seriously, this wasn't Beckett's fault. He had no idea that Ellia was going to use the virus on herself."

I thought of all the arguments I might use to convince John otherwise, but settled on asking him one question. "Just tell me this. A few months ago, if you knew you would be infected and the retrovirus didn't work, would you still want to develop it?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"Why?"

"You weren't there on that hive ship. You didn't have to shoot Sumner. I did. We need to get rid of those Wraith bastards."

There wasn't much I could say in response to that, so I settled for fiddling with John's IV and telling him to yell out if he needed anything.

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John was stable again for now, so I left him under the care of one of my colleagues and went to talk to Elizabeth Weir. As expedition leader, she needed to know what was going on. She wasn't in her office, though. The Canadian guy in the control room (again, I can never remember his name!) said that she had left abruptly after looking over some memos from Colonel Caldwell.

Oh, boy. Now there was a working relationship made in hell. The two of them were cordial to each other during the siege, but have been at each others' throats ever since the Daedalus returned from its first trip back to Earth. I heard that they've been sending a series of nasty memos back and forth to each other (it's amazing what gossip comes through the infirmary), and the score was reputed to be Weir 2, Caldwell 1. From the looks of it, I might have a ringside seat at the latest bout.

Sergeant Macdonald was standing guard outside Caldwell's office. One of the new personnel from the SGC, I'd met him when he received the gene therapy and promptly threw up all over me. Today he looked equally as miserable. Behind him I could hear shouting coming from inside the office. All in all, if I was smart, I would have hightailed it out of there.

Oh well, I never said I was a genius like McKay.

The office door opened, and Macdonald and I had about two seconds' warning to scatter before Elizabeth stormed out. Caldwell followed, looking after her with an unreadable expression on his face. I nodded to both men, as if the sight of two of the expedition's senior members fighting was routine, then quickly followed Elizabeth.

I caught up to her at one of the transporters. "What!" she snapped as I followed her inside. She looked sheepish, though, when she realized I wasn't Caldwell or one of his aides. "Sorry, Dr. Schwartz. It hasn't been a good few days for any of us. How's John?"

"So-so. I came to tell you that he's holding his own for now on the higher doses of viral inhibitor, but we're not going to be able to increase them much further without running the risk of fatal drug toxicity." It was true. The last batch of test results showed that John's liver was beginning to fail and that his kidneys weren't thrilled with us, either.

"Understood," said Elizabeth. "Is there anything else you can do?"

"Right now, no. What's the status of the bug hunt?"

"Major Lorne radioed in that they found a cave. That was about thirty minutes ago. He didn't say how long they thought it would take."

"Okay." Suddenly, I wasn't sure what else to say. "Um... well, I just wanted to keep you posted."

"Thank you for that." It was Elizabeth's turn to hesitate. "Tell me honestly. Do you think this thing has a chance of working?"

I've never pulled any punches when it comes to discussing prognosis, and people respect that. "It's an excellent idea in theory. But when you're dealing with genetic therapy, there are so many unknown variables. We saw that with the virus itself. I can tell you this, though," I said as her face fell. "Beckett will pull it off if anyone can."

And despite all of my anger and misgivings, that was still the truth.

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John was pacing the length of the isolation room when I got back to the infirmary. Judy met me at the door with undisguised relief. "He started doing that about ten minutes ago," she whispered. "He won't say why, just that he needs to keep moving. I was going to page you if you hadn't come back."

There was no doubt that John had worsened in the short time it took me to update Elizabeth. The rough patches on his hands were more prominent, and he kept unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were almost those of a cat and there was intermittently somthing alien behind them. I felt even more helpless than before.

"John? What are your symptoms?" I asked as I leaned against the doorjamb. I kept my voice and posture deliberately casual to avoid spooking him.

"You mean besides turning into a bug?" he snarled.

"If you could be more specific, yes," I said calmly.

"Skin's on fire. I feel like I'll explode if I stand still. And that inner bug I told you about is trying to break loose! STOP!" he suddenly screamed. He shuddered and took a few deep breaths. "I can feel my humanity dying," he said. "I don't recognize some of the thoughts in my head. I don't think the inhibitors are working anymore."

"No," I agreed. "We'll discontinue them." At this point, the best thing to do was keep John as calm as possible. Who knew if his agitation wasn't speeding up the mutation? I explained that to him. "At the moment, you're the best judge of what you're feeling. What do you think would help you the most?" I was hoping I could avoid pumping any more drugs into his system.

"Let me go back to my quarters," he said after a minute. His voice was becoming hoarse. "This place... it even smells wrong."

I looked at the guard standing in the corner, whom I hadn't even noticed until now. "Can we make them secure?" I asked.

The guard spoke quietly into his radio, then nodded. "We'll have a security detail ready when you get there."

I turned back to John. "All right, we'll try that. But I want you to let me know if it's not working." The three of us left the infirmary, sticking to less well-traveled corridors. I made sure that John was comfortable, then turned to leave.

Suddenly John grasped my wrist with a grip of surprising strength. "My life is completely in your hands now. Yours and Beckett's. If I transform into something completely alien, if what makes me John Sheppard is lost, I want you to promise to kill me."

Like I said before, I don't pull any punches. "I don't know what's going to happen, but we're not there yet. Whatever does happen, we won't let you suffer. I give you my word on that."

Only after I reached the safety of the infirmary did I let myself think about the enormity of the whole situation and what I had just promised. We were all sliding down that slippery slope, weren't we?

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

The team returned from their mission forty-five minutes later to report yet another disaster. Lorne, Ronon, and Teyla arrived in the infirmary first. They informed me that Carson and Rodney were giving Elizabeth an update and would be delayed a few minutes. That was fine with me. I didn't mind clearing these guys while waiting for an update of my own. This time I nabbed Ronon first, before he could sneak away to the cafeteria again. He looked a little put out, but didn't really give me a hard time. The exam went quickly, as he was uninjured, and I let him go just as I heard the voices approaching from the corridor.

"I can't believe you told me to shut up!"

"Aye. Would you like a repeat, Rodney?"

"Oh, very clever," said Rodney over his shoulder as he entered the infirmary. But I could tell his heart wasn't in it. His snark lacked its usual bite.

Carson followed him in. If I thought he looked tired before, he appeared completely exhausted now. The empty container in his hand spoke volumes. "Later, Rodney," he said firmly. Then, to me, "A word, please."

All right. I was ready, if this was how we were going to play it. We walked over to the isolation room that John had recently occupied. "Where's Colonel Sheppard?" Carson asked evenly.

"He's in his quarters. The infirmary was making him agitated, so I thought..."

"You thought? That's unique."

Now that was uncalled for. "Like I was going to say, I thought that he would be calmer there. Isn't it just possible that agitation speeds the process?"

"How do you figure that? Are you suddenly an expert in infectious diseases, then?"

"You try to keep snakebite victims calm, so that their heart rate goes down and the venom doesn't spread. So if Sheppard's not worked up, his heart rate and metabolic rate will be slower." I pointed to one of the test results, a measure of viral load. "This was from when he was in the iso room, and the next one was taken when he was in his quarters just before you returned."

"The second one's much lower," Carson admitted. Suddenly the fight went out of him and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Sorry."

His abrupt change in manner took me by surprise. "It's okay. I probably should have let you know as soon as you got back." We stood without speaking for several minutes. "What happened?" I finally asked.

"We never had a chance," he replied bitterly. "There must have been hundreds of those little bastards in that cave. Even the salt water barely slowed them down." He looked sick. "They got Walker and Stevens, and we didn't even get a single egg."

I'd assumed that when they didn't show up for their post-mission checks. Apparently it had been a nasty way to go. I never minded bugs before, but now I was becoming positively arachnophobic. I was also beginning to find it hard to stay angry at Carson. He'd put his own life on the line without a second thought.

Carson glanced at the lab results again. "So these are the numbers. But how does he look? What's your gestalt?"

"He's in pain," I said frankly. "And he's very aware of all the changes going on inside him. I think the Colonel's putting up one hell of a fight, but he's holding on to his identity by a thread."

Carson nodded unhappily. In a voice so low I could barely hear it, he said, "The same thing happened to Ellia. The last rational thing she did was try to save Rodney from a second Wraith. Then she just lost it and tried to kill him herself."

What could I say in response to that? In all honesty, John had probably been doomed from the moment Ellia's claws had broken through his skin. His progression wasn't as rapid as hers since he'd taken a much smaller dose, but the underlying process was the same. And we seemed to have lost our best hope of reversing it.

"I think we're going to lose him," Carson admitted. "If he's lucky, his body will shut down before the transformation is complete, but I don't even know about that." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Did he say anything to you about... advanced care directives?"

It took an effort for me to even get the words out of my mouth. "He wanted me to promise to kill him if he lost what makes him human." On an abstract level, it went against every tenet of medical ethics and Jewish moral philosophy that I believed in. But I had never been faced with this Kafka-esque scenario of metamorphosis when I did my studies. Did the same rules apply here? Damned if I knew.

"What did you tell him?" Carson asked. I couldn't read the expression on his face.

"I hedged," I said, somewhat disgusted with myself. "I told him we wouldn't let him suffer, and that's true, but I'm not sure what that will actually translate into."

"It really isn't black and white, is it?" Carson asked, again with a tinge of anger in his voice. I flushed, knowing that he was right.

What was becoming an uncomfortable silence was broken by Elizabeth's voice in our earpieces. "This is Weir! We have a security breach, Colonel Sheppard's quarters!"

This was it. We were obviously nearing the endgame. I glanced at Carson, wondering if there was anything we should do. He shook his head slightly, obviously having had the same thought. It was out of our hands now.

We heard Rodney's voice a few minutes later. "Okay, we've got a lock on him."

"That can't be him. It's moving too fast." It was Caldwell, and I suddenly felt cold. If Caldwell was involved, John's chances of surviving an encounter with his own men decreased drastically. I suddenly wondered: had John intended this?

"That's him," said Ronon, speaking from experience.

"All right. Four teams. Surround him and close in. I want him stopped." Was that satisfaction in Caldwell's voice? "And gentlemen – use whatever level force you deem necessary. Move out."

Elizabeth, God bless her, was not going to allow him to blindly order the death of a good man. "You will only use such force as a last resort," she said, quietly but firmly.

"That's not Sheppard anymore." Carson looked stricken at that, and I wordlessly put a hand on his shoulder.

"You heard me." And although Caldwell was technically their commanding officer, it seemed that the men were taking their cues from Elizabeth. I don't think I ever admired her more than at that moment.

We continued to listen as the search teams tracked John. At one point, someone yelled that he was climbing up a wall. Absurdly, I flashed to Tobey Maguire in Spiderman, then remembered that this was unfortunately real. Between John's super speed and wall-climbing abilities and Ford's enhanced strength, we were seeing things that comic book writers had only dreamed of. As far as I was concerned, they were welcome to it; I just wanted our guys back to normal.

We next heard Teyla's anguished plea and the sound of gunfire. "Please – do not make me do this." I thought it was over, but then came the distinctive sound of Ronon's blaster. "Get the doctor down here. I have him."

"Oh, thank God!" Carson exclaimed. He ran out the door, then noticed that I wasn't behind him. "You heard the man, let's go!" Then I followed him, and it seemed as natural as it ever had.

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The effects of the stun blast lasted almost until we reached the infirmary. John woke up and started thrashing as we were wheeling him down the last corridor. "Crap!" Carson swore as he vainly attempted to grab one of the flailing arms. Several of the marines helped us get him under control as we ran the last few steps. It took six of us, but we managed to get John into four-point restraints without anyone getting injured.

I really hated seeing John like that. The virus had robbed him of most of his human dignity, and we finished the job. He continued to fight the restraints as the nurses hooked him up to the monitoring equipment. But it wasn't until someone tried to hook up an IV that John became truly violent. He cried out, a strange hissing sound. It took me a minute to realize that he was trying to talk. I wasn't sure how much he understood any more, but I attempted to talk him down. "John, listen to me. It's Steve Schwartz. Carson and I -- we need you to calm down. You're only speeding up your own transformation."

It could have been a coincidence, but John appeared to relax a little. I continued to talk to him as we got the line started and fluids flowing. (I silently thanked anyone who was listening that we were still able to find a vein.) Before long, though, he was struggling again. His heart rate and blood pressure shot up sky high, and one of the restraint cuffs was starting to fray. I looked at Carson. "Barbiturate coma?"

He nodded. "Are you comfortable with calculating the dosage, or do you want me to call one of the anesthesiologists?"

"There isn't time for that." We worked quickly to induce the coma, and I swear I saw a look of relief on John's face just before he fell asleep.

Carson rubbed his eyes again. "I'm going back to the lab. Maybe there's something I overlooked."

I nodded. "I'll stay and keep an eye on the Colonel." Maybe Carson would be able to pull a brilliant idea out from under his kilt, but I wasn't overly optimistic.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

Judy handed me the latest printout of John's vital signs. Heart rate and blood pressure had decreased to levels only slightly above human norm, and his breathing was deep and even. I shook my head slightly. Normally, someone who was this deeply sedated would require a ventilator for respiratory support. We were dealing with so many unknown variables, and I could only guess if what I was seeing was normal for what John was becoming.

Across the room, Carson had come out of his lab and was talking to Elizabeth and Caldwell. "He's in a medically-induced coma. We were afraid he would break through the restraints."

"That's a good call, doctor." I looked at Judy and grimaced. Neither of us liked Caldwell very much. He was too quick to sacrifice his men to further his own agenda.

Elizabeth cut directly to the chase. "So what now?"

Carson suddenly looked old. "The retrovirus has wreaked havoc on his system and is taking over."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Carson said grimly, "that if we don't find a way to stop the retrovirus, what's left of the John Sheppard we know will be gone."

Elizabeth nodded like she'd been expecting this, but her eyes were haunted. Caldwell started to say something to her, but Carson took his arm in a not-so-gentle grip and pulled him away. "Leave her alone, man!" Carson hissed. Judy and I grinned at each other.

When I looked up again, Carson was gone and Caldwell was walking over to us. "What security measures do you have in place for this situation?" he asked crisply.

"What security measures?" I repeated. "In case it escaped your notice, Colonel Sheppard's about as unconscious as one can get." I used to play college football for Harvard, and I gave Caldwell the look and stance I had perfected against Yalie offensive linemen.

"Thank you, Schwartz, that had been brought to my attention," he replied, omitting my title. "The question still stands." He mirrored my stance, making me wonder, in a small corner of my mind, if he'd also played football at the Air Force Academy.

"Colonel Sheppard is both physically and chemically restrained, Caldwell. You want anything else, you deal with it." I deliberately turned my back on the commander of the Daedalus and continued to go over the treatment plan with Judy. After a minute I heard Caldwell stomp out of the infirmary, and I looked over to see how Elizabeth was doing.

She must have thought that everyone's attention was elsewhere, because she had let her leader's mask slip a bit. She was now sitting on one of the hospital beds and staring blankly at the curtain partially blocking her view of John's treatment cubicle. Elizabeth didn't respond when I walked over to her, so I put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle shake. Then she looked at me in a way that made me want to weep.

"He should be stable for a little while longer," I said. "Would you like a few minutes with him?" To say goodbye, I added silently. She nodded mutely. I caught Judy's eye and we moved off to give Elizabeth some privacy. I could still hear a little of what she said, though.

"I'm here to practice my bedside manner again, John, so you're going to have to tell me how I'm doing." She gave a little laugh. "Dr. Heightmeyer once asked me about my personal feelings for you _(Sessions, chapter 4)_. I didn't give her an answer at the time, so let me give it a try now. You're one of the deepest friends I've ever had. And I've never had anyone else on my team that I could work with so easily, even if we don't always agree." Elizabeth slapped John's hand playfully. "I'm expecting you to pull off a miraculous recovery, by the way. I never got a chance to finish kicking your butt after you broke quarantine. And I also never got to hear what you were really going to say when your jumper got lodged in the gate..."

Elizabeth's voice dropped to a whisper, so the rest of her words were lost to me. She continued a little longer, then left John's bedside without looking back. I saw her glare at one of the guards Caldwell had left behind. "Is there a way we can close off this section of the infirmary?" she asked. "Let's at least keep any other gawkers to a minimum." The young guard winced but said nothing.

"We can do that," I said softly.

"Good. With your permission, I'd like to send in John's team, too."

"Of course." At that, Elizabeth nodded and left, walking past the guard as if he didn't exist. The poor kid looked very upset at that.

"Don't worry, son." I said. "It's Colonel Caldwell she's pissed off at, not you." Son? I've been working with Carson for too long. Next thing you know I'll be calling the kid 'laddybuck' or something like that!

"I know, sir," the guard replied. "It's just that... Colonel Sheppard saved my butt once by flying medevac under heavy fire. I doubt he'd remember me, but the last thing I want to do is intrude."

"You're not. Sheppard himself would be the first one to insist on tight security." I really wanted to see what was going on in the lab, so I decided to put the kid to work. It might also be a good distraction for him. "Listen, John's connected to machines that will beep if his condition deteriorates, but I might not hear them in the lab. I need you to yell for me or Nurse Henning if that happens, okay?" I patted him on the shoulder, another of Carson's reassuring gestures.

Whatever happened to John, it was going to be really hard for me to leave this place.

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Carson was hunched over a microscope when I walked into the lab. That position looked uncomfortable as hell, but he didn't even look up. He knew as well as I did that we were pretty much out of options, yet he seemed determined to keep trying until either he or John crashed. Abruptly he pushed his chair away from the lab bench. "Happy now? You were right and I was wrong," he said bitterly.

If our association has taught me anything, it's that our Chief Medical Officer has a bad temper during times of stress. This time, though, I had to keep a tight rein on my own. "That's one of the craziest things I've heard you say, and you've come up with a few good ones since we got here! I think Rodney's lunacy is starting to rub off." Maybe this was for the good, though. If we yelled at each other enough, he could get it out of his system and go back to searching for a miracle. John owed me for this -- if he survived.

"Guess that goes along with you comparing me and Rodney to mad scientists," Carson sneered.

"Probably does," I agreed. "Million dollar question, though. Do you think I'm right?"

Carson muttered something that sounded like "pain-in-the-ass moralizers." But he admitted, "You might be." I supposed that was as good as I was going to get for now.

"Anything?" I asked.

"No," he said shortly. "I've got nothing. Even the stem cell idea was a long shot at best, and might have done more harm than good if we didn't get the genetic sequencing just right. How's John?"

"He's about the same for now. At the very least, he shouldn't be feeling anything. Elizabeth just said a private goodbye, and the rest of his team will probably do the same."

"Aye. They've -- we've -- all become very close. Like kin." John may not have been feeling any pain, but Carson certainly was. "I wish... I wish we didn't have to keep him in the infirmary. John once told me he hated hospitals." Carson smiled at the memory. "That was just after one of his more childish arguments about post-mission physicals."

"I believe it! In the early stages of his conversion, he said the place didn't even smell right."

Carson froze. "Smell right..." his voice trailed off. "I'm a bloody idiot, and I think you might be a genius."

Okaaay. What was going on here? "I'm flattered. Bewildered, but flattered."

He continued mumbling to himself. "Maybe... bugs, colony-minded critters. Might work if..." He looked up to find me staring at him. "Pheromones, lad! The infirmary didn't smell right because none of us gave off Iratus-bug pheromones."

Thank God for that, I thought.

Carson's voice became excited again. "But if John could smell them, maybe he's producing them. And that might be our ticket into that cave."

Right. That did make some sense. But... "How are you going to determine that? We don't know the chemical structure of an Iratus-bug pheromone, so how can we look for one?"

The master molecular biologist was back in action. "Sweat sample. We know what should be in human sweat. Anything else is our target."

Carson tapped firmly on his earpiece. "Dr. Weir, I need to speak to you immediately."


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, Elizabeth came down to meet us in the infirmary. She appeared interested in what Carson had to say but not willing to hope too much. Ronon and Rodney showed up a few minutes later. Rodney slouched against the wall and Ronon stood there with his arms across his chest. Both men were obviously struggling with the same emotions as Elizabeth.

Carson began to explain his idea, but as was typical for him, Rodney soon interrupted. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I see where you're going with this. If we can artificially create the pheromone, it might be able to confuse them enough to leave us alone." Yeah, right. As if we could synthesize the compound just like that.

"Aye, that might work."

"Well, that's an excellent plan, Carson!"

Carson knew just as well as I did that it wouldn't be that simple. "I wish it was!"

Worf -- oops, I mean Ronon -- spoke up for the first time. "You can't do that, Doc?" He spoke calmly, but there was suppressed anger in his voice, his eyes, and his clenched fists. At whom it was directed, I couldn't say.

Carson explained why the idea wouldn't work. "Well then, that's a terrible plan, Carson!" Good old Rodney. But I had to admit that I was confused, too. Where was this going?

"There's only one person on this base that wouldn't need the artificial pheromone," Carson said earnestly.

"Sheppard?" Elizabeth was skeptical.

I'm not sure if you noticed, but um, Colonel Sheppard's not feeling very well!" Rodney snapped. Behind the sarcasm, I could hear the pain and worry. I was beginning to understand why no one had killed him yet. Underneath the gruff exterior, he was fiercely protective of those he cared about. I bet he would rather give up his last powerbar than admit it, though.

Carson gave Rodney an exasperated glare. "We stopped the inhibitor. It was able to keep him lucid."

"I thought its effectiveness had worn off," said Elizabeth, puzzled.

Carson hesitated and shot me a glance. "True. But I believe if we give him a massive dose, it might make him clear-headed enough.

Wow. That was a huge deductive leap. John had continued to deteriorate after we stopped the inhibitor. We had no idea if the virus had mutated or even if John's body could tolerate the drug at all. Rodney seemed to have realized that, too. "Won't giving him the natural inhibitor, like..."

"Kill him?" Carson finished grimly. "Yes, it's a definite possibility. Even if I knew for certain, though, I'd be tempted to offer him one last hour of lucidity. He again looked defensively at me.

I'm sure Elizabeth saw the nonverbal communication, but she didn't comment on it. "Do it," was all she said.

"Aye. We'll need about thirty minutes to set things up, then we'll administer the inhibitor. We'll let you know when we're ready." Elizabeth seemed to understand that Carson wanted to talk to me privately, and she led the unlikely pair of Ronon and Rodney out of the infirmary.

I spent a long minute just looking down at John's comatose body. He was breathing a little more slowly now, and his human skin had turned sickly pale. "What do you think?" Carson asked at last. "Should we do this? I'm not exactly objective anymore."

"Neither am I," I admitted, noting absently that he'd switched back from "me" to "us." I wasn't sure that was a bad thing, either. I remembered John's plea to help him retain some humanity if it was clear he was changing beyond hope of recover. As I looked down at the form lying restrained and motionless on the bed, I knew that the only way to give him that would be to allow him one last chance to save himself.

"If we don't do this, we'll be giving up." I pointed towards the monitor and the now-diminishing heart rate. "Because either way, I don't think he has much more than an hour left."

What seemed like ages ago, John told me that he had put his fate in our hands. Now we had no right not to put it back in his own.

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John stirred a bit, and the flicker of motion caught my eye. Carson saw it too, and he nodded. "I think we're ready. You turned off the pentobarbital drip about twenty minutes ago? That should be enough time." He uncapped a syringe of interferon and poked the needle into an IV access port. "Can you bring Dr. Weir back in, please?"

Elizabeth was sitting in the hallway, in the area that had become an unofficial waiting room. She sprang up when she saw me, and her shoulders relaxed slightly when I gave a little nod. Once back inside the infirmary, we saw that John was already lucid. He grimaced, though, as if he was in some pain.

Elizabeth walked right up to the bedside. "John? Hey. You're in the infirmary."

"Sorry about the headache," Carson added. "It's a side effect of the inhibitor."

"Did I hurt anyone?" That was so typical of John. He tends to put everyone else's welfare ahead of his own.

"No, not seriously."

John paused, then asked almost indignantly. "Did Ronon shoot me?"

The first glimmer of humor appeared on Elizabeth's face. "You had it coming. Look, we don't have a lot of time. How would you like to go on a mission?"

The colonel listened as Elizabeth and Carson explained the plan. "Let's do it," he finally said.

Carson nodded. "Assemble the rest of his team. We'll meet you in the gateroom as soon as possible."

As Elizabeth left, I helped John sit up. "Take it slowly. Your balance is probably shot from the drugs."

"I don't have the luxury of taking it slowly, doc," he said softly.

It still took us longer than we wanted to get John ready. We didn't apply any monitoring devices (what would we do with the information?), but we still needed to help him with things as simple as buttoning his shirt. He had lost some fine motor control and was clumsy. On closer examination, his fingers were beginning to fuse. I had to suppress a shudder.

John insisted on wearing a hooded cloak. He was understandably self-conscious about his appearance, and his eyes pleaded with us to understand. I wasn't sure where to find something like that, but Judy saved the day. She blushed a little and declared that she used it for jogging in cold weather. At the same time, she folded her arms over her chest as if daring me to laugh. No danger of that, though! I was just happy John was thin enough for it to fit, even if it was a little short.

Finally everything was ready. We had used about twenty minutes of John's projected hour of rationality. Carson grimly set his watch, then tried to usher John out. John flinched at the attempted touch, and a profound expression of pain briefly crossed Carson's face. As the two of them walked out, he looked over his shoulder. "Keep an eye on the place," Carson said, and then they were gone.

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The next eighteen hours were a blur. Fifty minutes after they gated out, the team returned to Atlantis with one container of eggs and an unconscious John Sheppard. Ronon had to shoot him again when the inhibitor wore off. Carson disappeared into the lab with the eggs, and I did my best to stabilize John's condition. He was in pretty bad shape this time. The metamorphosis had progressed in spite of the inhibitor, and his body was shutting down. I finally decided to re-anesthetize him to slow down the replication of the virus. The coma might kill him, but the conversion process definitely would kill him.

At one point, Carson called Dr. Biro into the lab and the two of them sequestered themselves for several hours. Hopefully that was a good sign, indicating that the treatment development was going well. I didn't really know what was going on, though, and it was the one time I regretted not becoming a lab rat myself.

This time we had to put John on a ventilator. His heart rate and blood pressure continued to drop. I didn't want to think about where this might end, so I took refuge in adjusting the settings of the machines. Unlike my father, I'm not a very religious man. I keep some of the traditions, but I certainly haven't prayed on a regular basis. Until now, that is.

After what seemed like years, Carson and Dr. Biro emerged from the lab. Carson looked like an intern who hadn't slept for three days, but he carried a syringe full of clear liquid. "Is that it?" I asked.

"Aye, that's it. I'm less sure about it than I would like. We couldn't use a mouse retrovirus vector because of biochemical incompatibility..." I understood maybe one word out of five from Carson's explanation, but in the end it didn't really matter. This new, completely untested treatment was our version of Flutie's Hail Mary. It was an analogy I thought John would appreciate.

Carson took a deep breath and administered the stem cells. "We may not know anything for awhile," he said. "Why don't you go get some rest? I'll hold down the fort." Now this was a familiar battle. Both of us are stubborn men, unwilling to admit to personal vulnerabilities or perceived weakness. The problem isn't our fundamental differences, I thought suddenly. Our problem is that we're too much alike.

"Yeah, right," I drawled. "I want to see this through as much as you do." He started to protest again. "And, since I technically no longer work for you, I'm not going to follow that instruction."

Once again, I couldn't read the expression on Carson's face. "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug and retreated back to the lab.

I did manage to catch a brief nap as I kept vigil. Judy promised to wake me if she noticed any change at all. We didn't have too long to wait. About ninety minutes later she gently shook me. Startled, I jumped, but then I saw she was grinning. "Come take a look," she whispered.

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Carson and I stepped out from behind the screens that were surrounding John's bed. "It's not going to happen overnight, you can bet on that," he said. "But the transformation has begun to reverse itself." Elizabeth, Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla looked stunned but thrilled. Caldwell -- not so much.

As usual, Rodney had to get the last word. "Well done, Carson, for once again elevating medicine to an actual science!"

"Well, thank you, Rodney!" Carson retorted. But he gave a small smile.

Elizabeth sighed with relief. "We'll all finally be able to get some sleep. Keep me posted."

"Aye."

Elizabeth and Caldwell left, but the rest of the team didn't budge. They stood shoulder to shoulder with an air of defiance. Mutiny in the infirmary?

Ronon, looming over everyone, spoke first. "We might, uh..."

"Stay awhile," continued Teyla firmly. I had to hide a grin.

Rodney wimped out a bit. "Well, if that's all right."

Carson looked at them, most likely recognizing a battle he wouldn't win. "Of course," he said mildly, like it had been his idea all along. He walked away, and the team crowded into the space he had just vacated.

On a sudden hunch, I followed Carson. He went neither to the lab nor to his office. Instead, he ducked through a half-open door into an area we had designated as a medical library. I peeked around the corner in time to see him collapse into a chair. He held one trembling hand up to his face and covered his eyes. Then he leaned over and I could see him begin to weep.

I knew exactly how he felt.

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That night I dreamed of my father. The two of us were sitting in his study drinking tea, and I haltingly told him everything that had happened over the last few days. "I'm not sure what to do," I confessed. "What Carson originally did goes against everything I believe in. Everything you taught me. And it lead to the death of a young girl! Yet, similar methods saved the life of a good man. I'm having trouble dealing with the duality."

Rabbi Schwartz nodded. "You're concentrating on the method, the tool, but you're neglecting the wielder. Take fire. Man can use it to bring warmth and life, but also death and destruction. It's only a difference in intention."

"But the road to hell," I protested, falling back onto a cliche.

"Yes, yes, I know what it's paved with," he said impatiently. "You think too much in black and white. I think that's why you became a surgeon. Cut out the bad tissue, leave in the good. But you should trust yourself in dealing with moral ambiguities. Your judgement is sound."

At that point I woke up, and I knew what I had to do.

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_To be concluded_


	6. Epilogue

_One Week Later_

This time I was the one who needed the solace of the quiet balcony overlooking the ocean. I was tired, both physically and emotionally. The first 48 hours after the gene therapy were dicey. John's condition had deteriorated twice, necessitating a repeat infusion of stem cells. Unfortunately, the second time he had an allergic reaction to them. We had to intubate again when he went into anaphylaxis, and had to shock him once when his heart stopped. It was definitely not a fun time, but things went a little more smoothly after that.

The frantic pace left little time for self-reflection, so this was the first time I was able to really think about my decision. I was pretty sure I was doing the right thing, but that didn't mean I hadn't rid myself of all the lingering doubts.

Hence the balcony.

The sun had almost completely set and the stars were appearing. One of them was somewhat larger than the rest and was slowly moving. It was on this particular light in the sky that I was concentrating, symbolizing as it did the important realization I'd had: I didn't want to leave.

"Shouldn't you be on board?" a voice behind me asked as I stared up at the Daedalus orbiting the planet. "She'll be leaving in a few hours."

I made a noncommittal noise as Carson joined me at the rail. It was a beautiful evening, and I was enjoying the slight breeze that was ruffling my hair. At this rate, it would quickly become as untidy as John's. Now that his transformation was reversing, he was starting to care about such things again. (He was also starting to gripe about being confined in the infirmary. I overheard him discussing potential "escape scenarios" with Rodney, but I pretended not to notice.)

"I never really got a chance to thank you for your help," he said abruptly.

"You're welcome," I told him, meaning it. "How is the reversion progressing?"

"He's pretty much regained all fine motor control, so he's less frustrated. Unfortunately, since he's using it to play prison songs on his guitar, I'm becoming more frustrated."

I grinned. "How did he manage to get the guitar?"

"Rodney!" Carson growled. "Anyway, the skin changes are about halfway reversed, but I think his eyes will be the last to normalize." He shook his head in wonderment. "This goes against most of the principles of molecular biology we learned in med school."

"I also wouldn't have thought we could see such extensive and rapid change with just one virus. If you had told me this back on Earth, I would have said you were delusional." I laughed suddenly. "But then again, I probably would have said the same thing if you told me that a single gene would make it possible for a cocky young flyboy to sit his butt in a chair and put on a lightshow."

"Or for someone else to sit in the chair and nearly blow said flyboy out of the sky," Carson said ruefully.

I sighed. "It seems like a lot of the normal rules don't apply out here."

"But a lot do, son."

Surprised, I looked over at him.

He, in turn, was staring into the distance. "Particularly the one about rushing in where angels fear to tread." He paused, then continued, "Even after we came back with the cells, all I could think about was what could go wrong. We might not have been able to splice John's DNA into the bug genome inside the cells. His immune system could have fought off the cells. And then this occurred to me in the middle of the night. The DNA we administered could have inserted itself in the same place as the original retrovirus, disrupting the sequence. If it were badly mutated, it could theoretically turn airborne. How's that for something to keep you from sleeping?"

For a sickening minute, I let myself imagine a retrovirus plague. It would spread like wildfire. The entire expedition crew would be dying within days, and the virus could spread to other worlds if an infected person got through the gate. I shuddered and quickly shut down that line of thought.

Carson wasn't finished, so I let him continue to get things off his chest. "I'm not sure what to do with the research now. The Wraith aren't going away, and we don't know how long it will take for us to deplete our ZedPM. We need a definitive way of dealing with their threat, and this could be it."

"But..."

"But you saw what it did to John! That could easily happen again if someone in the lab got careless."

"Did you save any of the stem cells, just in case?"

Carson looked me in the eye. "There were none left. If John had needed any more, we would have been screwed." He then looked down at the ground and continued in a much lower voice. "And of course, there are the ethical issues, some of which I admit I had not considered fully."

"Which ones in particular?" I asked. We had been confronted with so many moral questions over the past few weeks that I wasn't sure where he was going to start.

He didn't answer right away and I could tell that he was carefully considering his words. Finally, after a brief pause, his gaze returned to stare directly at me.

"I was wrong to think that I could blindly tinker with another species' genetic makeup without consequences. It was the height of arrogance, never mind potential genocide if things went wrong."

I laughed humorlessly. "That's ironic. While you were working on the stem cell therapy, I was beginning to think I had been overly self-righteous. We were desperately trying to save John with an untested genetic therapy. Who am I to turn around and deny the benefits of similar treatment to someone else? From what you said, Ellia was heading towards a confrontation with the villagers that she would not have survived."

"Aye, that she was."

"So she took a horrible chance, betting everything on your virus working. But how different is that from some of the clinical trials of chemotherapy?"

"She was just a child, and acting under perceived duress! Steve, there's no way that could have been an informed decision!"

"I know, and it bothers me, too," I told Carson frankly. "That's why I ultimately still think you were wrong to even bring the virus with you in the first place. But..." I had to stop and swallow hard. "But I shouldn't have compared it to the situation with the Hoffans." I knew that my angry words had caused Carson a lot of pain. He didn't say anything now, but I knew he was thinking about Perna, the lovely scientist he'd developed a relationship with.

Carson suddenly pushed away from the balcony. "I think," he said slowly, "I'd like a drink right now. I have a bottle of old scotch locked away; would you like to share it?"

Yes, I definitely would.

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I'd never been inside Carson's quarters, so I was curious about them. I'm not sure what I expected a Scotsman's quarters to look like, but they were actually rather generic. The only cultural concession was a large wall hanging displaying a colorful pattern of reds and blues. He caught me looking at it. "My clan tartan," he said as he poured the drinks.

We sat on comfortable chairs that looked like they were made from old leather. I wondered where he'd found them, since they didn't bear much resemblance to the other furnishings we'd found abandoned here. But I quickly forgot about that when he handed me a glass. The scotch smelled wonderful.

"To Perna," Carson said. I echoed him and took a sip. It really was quite good.

I grinned as a sudden irrelevant thought popped into my head. "Poor Caldwell," I remarked. "He probably thought that getting John's job was a done deal."

Carson chuckled. "I heard about your little discussion with him. The nurses are already calling it 'the battle of the Steves'."

"Ha! That's good." We fell into a companionable silence. The stiffness and awkwardness of several days ago had disappeared somewhere along the way.

"I think I'm beginning to understand a little of what Rodney went through after the Arcturus project fiasco. John almost died because I had to show those people how brilliant I was. The all-knowing healer, rushing in to save the day," Carson said somewhat bitterly.

"Well, it was close," I admitted, "but in the end you did."

"Aye, after creating the problem in the first place! I almost killed a good friend, and I'm having a hard time getting past that."

A few days ago, I probably would have agreed with him. I said as much. "I think I started to change my mind, though, when you walked into that cave despite the danger." If Carson was being brutally honest with himself, I could do no less. "I stopped doubting your intentions. It's hard to be sanctimonious when some else is willing to sacrifice himself like that."

Heightmeyer would no doubt have had a field day with my dream, but I think this was what my subconscious was trying to tell me. Unlike the physicians complicit in the atrocities of the Holocaust, Carson had shown his willingness to do everything in his power to right a tragic error, up to and including giving his own life. I think my real father would have expressed sentiments similar to those of my dream-father. I therefore owed it to him to get past my own misgivings, and I was definitely heading in the right direction.

As if reading my mind, Carson smiled. "You do realize that you're arguing my position and I'm arguing yours."

"Yeah, I did notice that. Interesting, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He took a sip of his drink. "So what are you going to do now?"

The million dollar question. I really didn't want to leave. I loved being here, from the almost-daily wonder of discovering new things about the city to the routine bickering of John and Rodney. So why was I still hesitating?

Carson saw that I wasn't ready to answer yet. "Tell me, why did you become a doctor instead of a rabbi like your father?"

Another good question. It was more than just my relatively rigid worldview. "I think, in the end, my faith just wasn't strong enough. When push came to shove, I wanted to be able to heal people, not just leave it up to God. Surgery's good for that. Instant gratification, you know? Set a broken bone, remove an appendix, and the patient gets better." I paused. "In case you hadn't noticed, I tend to see things in black and white. Surgery's also good for that."

He nodded. "Personally, I went into medicine because I loved solving puzzles. I really wanted to figure out how the human body worked, and how to make it work better. Research has always been my first love. It's an incredible privilege to be trusted to take care of the sick, but until I came here I was happier in the lab."

"And now?"

Carson shrugged. "Since coming to Atlantis, I've seen what happens when you put science on a pedestal. First the Hoffans, then Rodney and his weapon of mass destruction, and now this."

"And I've seen what happens when moral dilemmas become too abstract. I think we both lost sight of the people affected by what we do." I sighed. "You asked what to do with the research, whether to continue it. I still can't tell you that, but we at least need to be aware of our own motives and biases."

He looked at me for a long minute, then smiled. "It looks like you've decided to stay, then." I nodded, and after a minute, held out my hand. He took it and gripped it hard.

"We'll watch each other's back," Carson said. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have as a moral compass."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Things were almost back to normal when I showed up for my next duty shift. John was still slightly blue, but he grinned when he saw me. He was talking to the young security guard who had been so concerned about intruding on his privacy. Obviously John had remembered the man, and he was doing his best to put him at ease. I marveled at how many lives he managed to touch.

"Hey, doc!" John yelled. "Carson's keeping me locked up in here. Don't I even get one phone call?"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Carson glaring. Yeah, I'd say things were definitely returning to normal. "Nope. We can't cover the long distance charges." The kid snickered at that, and John smirked at me. I walked away to catch up on some of my chart dictations, and behind me I suddenly heard the most incredible noise.

"I'm stuuuuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin' on..."

Ouch.

FIN


End file.
